I’m writing this at 0930 and sitting in the corner of a field by the sea, awaiting the arrival of the company. The field is adorned with little sticks & flags saying  . . . Coy. Office . . ., Latrines, . . cookhouse. etc. All ready for the road convoy. Jimmy & I left early on Wed. morning & drove north in the Jeep. We arrived last night, sleeping in a rare & wondrous & heart-aching city. It’s the old pioneer life, sleeping on Christopher’s camp bed under the stars & all that. Very hot up here. Great fun. Hence my scrappy letter & the delay you’ll get with it. Tell Mama I’m sorry I’m not writing but we are sort of busy & gypsyish. All very good fun.

                        The drive was outstandingly interesting. Details later. Cooks Tours are far behind the army in their attractions. A most memorable ride in fact. Many famous sites have I seen, all for you. Also I bought for your birthday, & if it doesn’t arrive, consider it yours on that day a nice party handbag, embroidered. Also some pictures for Richards room later on. They are for him & will come.

                        At times like these I have to give all my thoughts to my job – with deeply ingrained thoughts of you always in the essential foundation of my awareness. So if letters are rare & spasmodic forgive me. It’s because we are as we are that I have to throw myself body & mind into the job. You’d not have it otherwise. I’ve just made a laundry contract with two local farm women from a little white farm-cluster near our field. They are good types here, honest & hard working, & very pro-us all & anti-tedeschi, whom they hate with good reason.

                        Saw what I call without any knowledge two Kestrel Hawks. Large & proud & hovering & strangely coloured. Unusual anyhow. Large birds.

                        Glory be, two letters came with the Main party, your Mother’s birthday letter & it reminded me that tomorrow was my birthday, & yours of Midsummer Day. A fine letter, with news of literary Agency affairs. Poor you.

                        I July  This is a scrappy letter & no mistake ! Busy days. All rather excitingly triumphant. My camp is established in neat rows & all is serene & efficient. 200 yds away is the loveliest little cove, steep rocks & deep clear water & the sun hot & the sky rich blue. Peter & I swam & lazed this evening at 6o/c.

                        Reccying round in the Jeep this morning I found a lone tent under an olive tree & it was a Sgt of the Army Post Office ! All up forward. He’s getting our mail off tomorrow, & trying to get our  mail. Yeoho ! I’ve done up your little bags & Dickie’s pictures. Hope they make it for your birthdays. My love to both of you on the days. In places like this, lovely, open-air & all banded together as one very purposeful family, I have you & Dickie with me all the more than usual. Dear, how I have you with me ! Spiritually & – as religion is to one. For our love is as many sided as a diamond, & like a rare diamond, gives out of its own self it’s magic colour.

                        This open-air life on this glorious coast, mountains & sweeping skylines & fine cultivated lands & history, is inspiring, & the feeling of purpose & endeavour we all have makes us springy of step. Peter & I have our tents side-by-side & as ever, see to each other.

                        So much to say, so little to say ! It’s been a happy birthday, sunny as always, a lot of work, something to see for it, & the men happy & gloriously fit. Everyone is getting very Brown. We eat like wolves, biscuits now, no more bread for a spell, & all tinned.

                        Dearest how I love you ! And my son Richard, whose picture looks at me in my little tent.